


Dance For You

by anexorcist



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Identity Porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anexorcist/pseuds/anexorcist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Babydoll</i>, he sings, oh <i>babydoll</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LectorEl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LectorEl/gifts).



> “A woman in the street and a freak in the you-know-what. Sit back, sit back, it’s the pre-game show, Daddy, you know what’s up.”
> 
> ~Beyonce, “[Dance For You](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PGc9n6BiWXA)”

Tim hikes the dress up his thighs and Bruce, Matches, who is he tonight, runs calloused thumbs at the edge so Tim can feel them, just barely. They catch on his smooth, scarred thighs. Too much, but not enough.

Placing manicured hands against Wayne's chest, Tim arches his body, leaning in for a kiss, but he rolls away just before Brucie catches his lips, teeth snapping on empty air.

That growl is all Batman. And the short chuckle is a little Robin but all Tim.

The body roll moves the rest of Tim's body, like a wave, crashing against the hard line of Bruce's erection, and they both groan. Tim stretches his neck, Adam's apple stuttering up and down with a moan, and Bruce follows it, like a fish and a line. Hook, line, and sinker. Bruce groans again, or just doesn't stop, like a single baritone song vibrating through his whole frame.

There's a little bit of both Bruce and Batman mixed into that.

The dirty talk, though. The dirty talk is all Matches.

Tim floats back down toward Bruce's body, dress catching in the artificial light pouring in from between the blinds. Bright and pale, like an otherworldly creature, like a beautiful incubus.

Bruce can't get enough. Wants the younger man to suck him dry, drain him of all his energy. Wants them to be touching for the rest of their lives. Because everything, Bruce will give  _everything_  to this man, this boy, his son, his lover--

He smashes his lips, finally, against Tim's painted ones, and before he tongues the younger man's mouth, it tastes too artificial. Drawing back, Bruce smears a thumb across wet lips, painting it across Tim's cheek. Can't get enough of throwing Tim into ruin, into desperation, into heat full of want and need beyond words.

Tim opens up and catches the calloused end of Bruce's thumb. He sucks on it, slow and easy. Hums appreciatively. Takes more of it into his mouth, closes his eyes, bucks his hips, and groans. No words, no words here, they've always been able to read each other without them.

Cradling Tim's make-up smeared face in the rest of his hand, Bruce leans backward. Away from Tim's thrusting - and Tim whines, he  _fucking whines_ , high and keen at the back of his throat, like he hadn't been the one to tease just a few seconds, minutes (or was it hours?) ago.

He hates the Matches-way Bruce chuckles. But it goes straight to his cock anyway.

Bruce, Brucie, slides a hand between their groins, making sure to graze Tim's wet panties, just barely, to unzip his $500 pants and. And he pulls his cock out and the whining stops there, turns into low moans and sighs.

Tim swallows around Bruce's thumb, once, before backing off. Just far enough to lick his lips. His tongue grazes Bruce's thumb as it pulls away, and Bruce almost regrets the loss. But--

Tim lunges in, quick, down, to the shining tip of Bruce's penis. Leaves a long, wet, open-mouthed kiss.

Bruce hums, a low thing, and through hooded eyes he watches as Tim, Caroline, Red Robin, Robin,  _Timothy_  smears pre-come across his lips like Bruce smeared his lipstick. Bruce lets him know just how much he appreciates that, spills nothing-words and obscene sounds from his smooth Brucie Wayne lips.

Tim goes down on him again, with more intent to stay this time, and he grasps the base of Bruce's dick with one hand, fondles his balls with the other. Bruce forces himself not to hold Tim's head down, push it further, but Matches. Matches, that rogue, that criminal, has less control.

 _Babydoll_ , he sings,  _oh babydoll_.

Tim flexes his throat and moans, long and low, letting it vibrate through Bruce's whole body. The sound sends tingling sensations all the way down to Bruce's toes and back up. The muscles in his thighs tighten, his toes curl, his whole body gravitates toward Tim, like he could get any closer. Like they could melt into one another and never be apart.

Because he remembers what it's like when they're apart, knows Tim remembers it too. Knows how ripped apart he felt on the inside, like all his muscles and bones and organs have detached from his skin and are swimming around his body. But, Tim, against him,  _all over him_ , grounds him. Like he'd grounded him when Jason had died. Like he'd grounded him when he'd returned, out of time, out of place.  _Tim reminds him who he is_.

With one hand tangled in Tim's hair and one hand over Tim's at the base of his penis, Bruce thrusts his hips upward. Fucks Tim's mouth, raw and bruised and  _god_ , he swears, he can see a smear of red lipstick circling his dick.

Tim ruts desperately against Bruce's pants leg. His dress has been bunched up all the way to his waist. His own penis, tip shining with pre-come, peaks out from the top of lacy, barely-even panties and god, does Brucie know how to shop for lingerie.

But, fuck, fuck, then he realizes, because  _fuck_ , that doesn't look like anything he's bought before. Bruce knows, he's catalogued all of Tim's barely-underwear in his mind, which means Tim went out and bought it himself, with the  _intent_  of letting Bruce see him in them, and--

Tim pulls him in deeper, swallows him whole, until his mouth kisses the top of Bruce's large hand over his smaller one. They're pumping him together and Tim hollows his cheeks in time, but he falters. Which means he's close. If the whimper is anything to go by.

Bruce removes his hand, regretfully, from Tim's soft hair, and reaches for Tim's cock, not regretfully. He shoves aside the crotch of the panties and pulls Tim through it. He wants to leave the panties on, will probably leave them on later, when he fingers Tim over his leg, fucks him raw over the desk.

Bruce traces the vein on the underside of Tim's cock, with his thumb, the one he'd slipped into the wet cavern of his ward's delicious mouth, earlier. Pumps once, twice, three times, sliding up and down, hand slick with sweat and come. When he brushes his thumbnail against the slit of Tim's cock, Tim shouts, his whole body jerks.

He knows how to hide a lot of things from Bruce, but this, not  _this_ , he's too lost and desperate to hide anything,  _anything_ , from Bruce and besides, Bruce knows all his secrets already, even the ones he keeps hidden in him like  _I love you_  and  _Batman_ and _Bruce_  and

“Tim, God,  _son_.”

Orgasm hits Tim like a train and his whole mouth vibrates around Bruce.

Even while he's fucking Bruce's fist, rough and smooth in all the right places, Tim doesn't let up. Tongues the slit of Bruce's penis, sucks even harder. Until he's so,  _so_  close. Until Matches can't stop the too-sweet names spilling from his mouth, until Brucie's eyes roll back into his head, until Batman's growl thunders in his chest, until. Until Bruce says  _Tim_ and comes down Tim's throat. Tim takes it all, milks him dry, just as Bruce tugs him through the last spurts of orgasm.

His fist is loose around Tim's penis, and he doesn't let go until Tim catches his breath and pulls off of Bruce's dick wet and quiet. He cradles a warm hand against Tim's face and Tim leans into it, mewling satisfaction. Bruce savors the sight before pulling him in. He licks the seam of Tim's bruised, raw pink lips before closing the distance with a slow, languid kiss.

Crawling up Bruce's body, Tim buries his face in Bruce's chest and inhales, breathes in the scent of sex and  _Bruce_  and himself. The air is heavy with it, Tim can practically taste it on his tongue.

Before falling asleep to the rise and fall of Bruce's chest, Tim sighs one word, a name, and Bruce chuckles because--

_“Batman.”_

“Robin.”

\--before joining Timothy in the warm, hazy realm of sleep.


End file.
